


drunk dial

by writinginthesecrettrees



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, Drunk Dialing, M/M, Masturbation, Stanford Era (Supernatural), blink and you'll miss it Sam/Brady
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27178279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writinginthesecrettrees/pseuds/writinginthesecrettrees
Summary: “My sweet Sammy, pretty and perfect and mineallmine, but you’re not anymore.” A pause, and Sam can hear Dean swallowing. Can almost smell the beer over the phone. “Went away an’ left me aaaaaaaall alone, didn’t ya?”You could have come,but the words stick in his throat and he doesn’t want to have that fight again, not when the sound of his name in Dean’s voice has torn open a barely-scabbed wound in his heart.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 85





	drunk dial

For a long while there’s no speech, only heavy breathing, and Sam almost hangs up because he has better things to do than listen to some perv making crank calls, has a midterm to study for and a paper to outline and his roommate is out for the night so he can actually get some work done. Then,  _ “Sssssssammyyyyyyyy,” _ slurred out in a voice that makes him ache with the familiarity. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy-boy.”

“Dean.”

It’s barely a whisper, forced past a sudden lump in his throat, but Dean hears it anyways. Chuckles low and deep and it turns into half a sob.

“Myyyyy Sammy. Are ya still, baby brother? Still my Sammy-boy?”

Sam wants to say yes but he’s not sure if it’s true, lives in a world so much larger than he’d dreamed possible when it was him and Dean (and sometimes Dad) crammed into motels and cars and never quite part of the world they fought to protect. Six months ago, four months ago, even three weeks ago he would have said always, said Dean was his first and only forever. That was before getting dragged to a party, getting tipsy and making out with another guy, waking up in Brady’s room to shy smiles on a face that doesn’t set his heart racing but is open and uncomplicated and makes him feel a little less lonely. And Dean had said no, refused to come with him to California, so even if Sam didn’t feel like it was over they were done. Finished. Broken.

“My sweet Sammy, pretty and perfect and mineallmine, but you’re not anymore.” A pause, and Sam can hear Dean swallowing. Can almost smell the beer over the phone. “Went away an’ left me aaaaaaaall alone, didn’t ya?”

_ You could have come, _ but the words stick in his throat and he doesn’t want to have that fight again, not when the sound of his name in Dean’s voice has torn open a barely-scabbed wound in his heart.

“Wanted to go with you. Almost followed you a hundred times. Think your school would’ve let me crash in your room? Think your roommate would’ve let me sleep in your bed?”

And oh, the picture that makes in Sam’s mind. Dean, with his larger-than-life energy filling this space, already cramped with Sam and Oliver. Dean crushed against him in the twin bed that Sam barely fits in alone, arm around Sam’s middle and whispering in his ear to stay quiet, don’t wanna wake your roommate up Sammy, here suck my fingers if you need something to help…

“Think about all the goddamn time, Sammy. How it could be. No one knows us, knows we’re brothers, an’ I could be outside your class waitin’ and grab you as you walk out the door. And I know you’re growing, getting so damn  _ big, _ but I bet I could still pick you up. Get my hands under your ass, get your legs around me where they belong. Get you up against the wall an’ make you forget all about your fancy friends and professors and classes, ‘cause baby boy you fucking  _ love _ grinding against me. An’ don’t even try and pretend that’s changed.”

Sam can’t pretend, never could, and he knows that Dean recognizes the whine he can’t hold back as he shoves his hand down his pajamas and grabs his dick.

“Touching yourself for me, baby boy?” Dean’s voice drops to the low register that has always been just between them, and Sam’s heart aches almost as much as it did when he got on the bus, watched Dean getting smaller as it drove away.

“Mhm” is all Sam can say though, soft and quiet and still hoping Dean won’t hear. His eyes won’t stay open, keep drifting shut to picture everything Dean’s saying while his thumb swipes over the head of his cock, gathers the precome and he lifts his hand to his face. Sucks his thumb clean and makes it noisy, gets a drawn out groan from the phone.

_ “Fuck, _ Sammy, are you tasting yourself for me? Taste so good, baby boy,  _ god _ I can’t get enough of that. Wanna find you at that damn school and get on my knees in front of you, pull your pants down and suck you so good. Or maybe you want me to taste something else.”

Dean’s breathing harder now, almost gasping into the phone and Sam doesn’t even try to hide the needy “please” that comes out. Dean’s mouth is in his dreams, on his dick, his balls, his hole and Dean always dives in like Sam’s better than pie to him. 

“Get your hand off your dick Sammy. Wanna hear you finger yourself. Think you can still come like that for me?”

And of fucking course he can, can’t help it, has always come for Dean however Dean wanted it. Just Dean’s voice had him halfway there already, and the slight burn as he contorts himself around to push one spit-slick finger in his hole has him panting, gasping, moaning “so good” under his breath and Dean hears it.

“I know it, baby boy. Always feels so good to get inside you, makes me feel alive. Feels more like home than driving my baby, didja know that Sammy-boy?  _ Fuck _ , think about me licking you open, getting you all sloppy wet with my tongue like you like. And if you beg me to go faster, I’ll just go slower ‘cause I know how to take care of ya, right Sammy? Better’n anyone?”

“Only you.” Sam’s thrusting his fingers faster, stretched out on three now and desperate to reach deeper, hit that spot that Dean could find blind and he’s almost _ almost  _ there.

“You better believe it’s only me,” Dean growls.  _ “Mine. My _ Sammy. Fuck, baby, wanna get my fingers in there, pull you open so I can lick deep. Get you so open you think you’re gonna break, make you scream for me before I get my cock in you. Make you come for me until you’re so sensitive it hurts when I fuck you, know you like it like that.”

“Dean, please… I need…” Sam whines as he thrusts his fingers in hard, reaching, tries to buck his hips down to get deeper and ignores the neighbors pounding on the wall as his bed creaks against it to his rhythm.

“Need what, baby boy?”

_ “You, _ Dean, please god I just need  _ you.” _

_ “Fuck,  _ Sammy.” Dean’s voice is wrecked, and when he says “Come for me, now,” Sam does, cries out his brother’s name as he explodes and vaguely recognizes the sound is Dean doing the same over the phone.

He winces as he pulls his fingers out of his sensitive hole, feels it twitching slightly at the movement and he wants to go to sleep still filled but the angle is awkward. 

“Suck ‘em clean for me, baby,” Dean’s voice gone hoarse and pleading. “My Sammy, my sweet filthy boy, do the dirtiest things for me and you love it don’t ya?”

And Sam’s deepest secret is that he’ll do anything Dean asks, so he does, sticks his fingers in his mouth and slurps loud around them, Dean’s moaning in his ear the only encouragement he needs to make it a show. “Miss you, D’n,” mumbled around a mouthful. 

“God, Sammy… miss you so damn much. Shoulda come with you, but dammit I can’t and—”

The line goes dead and Sam curses, tries to call back and gets dropped into voicemail. Tries again and the same thing happens, and eventually he stops trying, too tired to stay awake and there’s class in the morning that’s gonna come too soon so he sends a text before falling asleep.

-

Dean wakes up when sun lances through a crack in the curtains, stabs his eyes and makes his headache worse. He’s surrounded by beer cans and come is dried itchy on his chest and belly, phone dead in his hand.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck.”

He plugs the phone in before stumbling to the shower, stands under the pounding spray until he feels halfway alive again. Turns the phone on while toweling his hair dry, and finds twenty-three missed calls from Sam and a text:

_ Charge your damn phone. Jerk. _

His heart aches a little less as he types out a reply.

_ Bitch. _


End file.
